


Home Is Where You Hang Your Hammer

by JainaDurron7



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26012944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JainaDurron7/pseuds/JainaDurron7
Summary: A collection of moments from Frederick Chase's point of view following the day his daughter Annabeth runs away from home.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase & Frederick Chase
Comments: 6
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

Frederick Chase woke up at an ungodly hour with a heavy feeling of dread settling in his gut. The bedroom he shared with his wife Helen was still dark, the sun yet to make its appearance. He craned his neck to take a glimpse at the alarm clock on his nightstand and grimaced. It was the first day he’d had in weeks to the chance to sleep in, but it was just after 5:30— close enough to a less horrific hour that he knew he had no chance of falling back asleep before the kids were up. Still, he was tempted to try and roll back over, but something was pulling at his gut, and he knew his chances were hopeless.

Quietly, he pushed aside the bed covers and got up, careful not to wake his wife who remained blissfully asleep. Frederick crept out of their room and down the hall, headed for the lower floor. He paused between the doorways to Annabeth’s and the twins’ rooms. Often, he liked to tiptoe into Annabeth’s room to watch her sleep, her small, young face at such peace. But, tonight, her door was closed, and Annabeth was such a light sleeper that the father feared he would wake her up. Besides, yesterday had been a long day for her, and she could use her rest.

Gods, last night had been ugly! He’d come home late at night to another fight between his wife and daughter. Helen had told him that Annabeth had been making up stories to scare her brothers and get attention while Frederick had been busy with work the last several nights. They hadn’t had a chance to talk much about it before it was time to put the kids to bed.

He hadn’t the faintest clue what they were fighting about this time, and, frankly, he’d been much too tired to play mediator and try to sort things out before the family went to bed. From what little his wife Helen had told him, she and Annabeth had been having particularly ugly fights for the last few days. Frederick had been rather busy with his work; he’d spent late hours in his office at the university where he taught, grading hundreds of papers and meeting with students before the end of the semester. He’d been determined to get his students’ grades settled before the weekend so that he could focus on his family and enjoy the break with them before the next semester began.

_ Tomorrow, _ he’d told himself as he’d tried to appease Annabeth in her tantrum and get her to bed. Last week had been horrible, but tomorrow, they would start fresh, and Frederick would give his daughter all the attention Helen thought she was acting out to receive.

Helen insisted that she had no problem playing ‘bad cop’ when it came to dealing with Annabeth’s dramatics. Frederick had considered that Helen was right and Annabeth was just looking for attention, but father and daughter had had their own share of spats recently. Whatever the explanation behind Annabeth’s lashing out, Frederick was tired. He was tired of fighting with his daughter. He was tired of coming home to his daughter and wife fighting. Most of all, he was tired of the very division which lay between Helen and Annabeth.

Frederick dragged a hand down his face, pushing aside those thoughts and focusing on restarting his day with a strong cup of black coffee. He took his time draining the mug, entertaining himself with the tiny model planes which littered the kitchen table. He’d let Bobby and Matthew play with the figures yesterday and, in the chaos of Annabeth’s outburst, he’d forgotten to see to it that the minifigures were returned to their proper displays.

Dr. Chase, alumni of Harvard University and professor at the prestigious West Point, reimagined the 1325 Battle of Zappolino if the Bolognese had had B-26 Marauders. He remained occupied long enough that Helen walked into the dining area, her dark, floral night robe draped over her pajamas. She hugged her waist, blinking at the morning light as she approached. “Good morning, dear.”

Frederick set down the minifigure airplanes and swallowed the last droplet of lukewarm coffee in his cup. “Morning,” he mumbled, trying to find something he could savor about that last lick.

Helen smiled, apparently amused, and came to his side to rest her hands on his shoulders. “You got up early. I thought you would want to sleep in for your first day off.”

Frederick released a light sigh. “I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

Helen dug her fingers into his shoulders, kneading at the hard knots. “You’re tense.”

He didn’t say anything, but Helen seemed to read his thoughts. “I know you love your daughter more than anything, Freddy, but you can’t be afraid to put your foot down. She will keep playing these games until you tell her to stop.”

“Games?”

Helen sighed. “I love you. Therefore, I love Annabeth, too. But you’re let her run all over you with these stories and games she makes up. She’s a smart girl.  _ Brilliant!  _ Wise beyond her years. She has to start acting like it.”

_ Wise beyond her years.  _ Frederick could have laughed at that, but that tugging in his gut returned, and his frustration swallowed any humor he found in the irony. Instead, he shook his head, rising from his stool to wash out his cup. “I don’t want to talk about last night. I don’t want to know what you two were fighting about. I don’t want to know what happened. I just want to enjoy this time with my family.”

Helen smiled. “I could drink to that.”

They enjoyed the quiet first hour of the morning together, trading ideas for a nice day out with Annabeth and the infant twins. Helen argued for the zoo while Frederick considered driving out to Mount Vernon; he knew Annabeth would enjoy that.

The boys woke early, and Helen went to free them from their cribs as Frederick began preparing breakfast. He set out five plates while Helen worked to cut his sausages into smaller pieces for Bobby and Matthew. He divided out the eggs between the plates, calling for Annabeth to come down for breakfast.

The twin boys were halfway through the piles of eggs on their highchair trays when Helen spoke up. “I’m surprised; Annabeth never sleeps in this late.”

Not that it was so late in the morning, but Annabeth was often one of the first people awake.

The heavy weight in Frederick’s gut tugged at him again. He pushed back his chair, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “I think I’ll go get her. I’m sure she was tired last night.”

The first thing Frederick noticed when he cracked open the door was the chill encompassing the room. Often, Annabeth liked keeping her window open at night, but Helen had mentioned she’d been keeping it closed since a nightmare she’d had over a week ago. Maybe, she’d been having less nightmares bothering her finally.

Frederick peaked his head in, noting the open window above Annabeth’s bed. Her blankets formed a lump below her pillow, and he could imagine Annabeth hiding under a mound of blankets, asleep.

Except that the decorative pillows she left on the floor every night weren’t there.

“Annabeth?”

The lump didn’t move, so he called out in less of a whisper, “Annabeth? Sweetheart, it’s morning. I have breakfast ready for you.”

No answer.

“Annabeth?” Frederick entered his daughter’s room, leaving the door wide open. He crept to her bedside, gingerly peeling back her covers. But tucked loosely beneath the comforter wasn’t the small form of a seven-year-old, but all of her missing pillows. “Annabeth?!”

Frederick spun, looking to the bathroom in the corner of her room, but the light wasn’t on and the door was open. It was then that he noticed the peg on her door where she always hung up her backpack and coat was empty. “No. Annabeth!”

“Freddy?” Helen was calling from downstairs. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

“Annabeth!” He threw apart her bed, pulling off the covers, chucking aside the pillows.

Then, he saw it. Lying there on her bed, tucked neatly beneath her regular pillow was a blue envelope, signed and sealed, addressed to ‘Dad’ in big letters. He took it with a shaky hand as that ball of dread weighing in his gut seemed to grow more solid. He knew. Gods above, somehow he just knew what he would find in that letter, but he had to open it and read it anyway. And for all his genius— the logic and intellect he was naturally prized with and all the knowledge he’d gained from his length studies at Harvard and …

For all the intellect he possessed, Frederick Chase had never wanted so terribly to be wrong.

He couldn’t get himself to really process what he was reading— he was sure he would be reading this letter enough times to read it through later. But he saw enough to understand that his world was crashing down.

“Frederick?”

Helen’s sudden presence might have startled Frederick if the rest of his awareness wasn’t locked onto the letter in his hand. That letter, and the fear taking hold of his entire being. “She’s gone.”

Helen rested her hand against his shoulder, her touch feather-light. “Freddy?”

“Annabeth’s gone.”

* * *

Helen is nearly as nervous as he, her gaze farting back and forth across each street and sidewalk while Frederick challenges the speed limit and sends their minivan cruising through the city of Roanoke. So far, there are no hints of Annabeth. “She couldn’t have gone far. She’s only seven.”

Only seven. His little girl was seven, and she’d run away. Frederick didn’t have the mind to process how much that hurt; all he could think about was the idea of his daughter in danger, facing who-knew-what on her own. Frederick has raced for the driver’s seat of their family van and had the keys in the ignition and his foot on the gas before Helen could close her door.

“Frederick, I’m sure she’s fine. She’s a smart girl. She’ll come back.”

“She’s smart,” Frederick agreed, “and she’s stubborn. Once she puts her mind to something, you know there’s no changing her mind.”

“But running away?”

“She’s in danger, Helen!”

“Okay, yes, a seven-year-old should not be wandering through town on their own, but this is a good neighborhood; we’ll find her and everything will be okay.”

Frederick shook his head, a thousand terrible scenarios racing through his head. “You don’t understand, Helen. She’s in danger!”

“We’ll find her, Frederick. We’ll take her back home and straighten her out. She can’t just run away when we get upset with her dramatics.”

“Dramatics?” Helen’s accusation gives him pause, and a terrible feeling takes hold of him. “Helen, what were you fighting with her about yesterday?”

Helen shook her head dismissively. “Just another one of her stories. Something attacking her when she was in bed. I even checked this time! There were no scratches on her, nothing in her bed. She just won’t give up!”

“Helen.” Frederick’s hands gripped the steering wheel harshly, his knuckles white and stiff. He honked at a driver who was trying to pass them, and Frederick settled a little more weight on the gas. “I need to know what Annabeth told you. What did she say happened?”

She shook her head again. “It was spiders this time. She said there were dozens of spiders crawling into her bed, biting her, and leaving cobwebs on her. But I checked and there were no— aghhh!”

More gas.

“Frederick! For god’s sake, would you please calm down?! We are going to find her! I promise!”

“You don’t understand! She’s in danger!”

“In danger of what? You just said she can do anything—“

“Annabeth  _ can _ do anything she sets her mind to, and  _ will.  _ What she  _ can’t _ do is protect herself! She needs to be back home so I can protect her!”

Still understanding no better, Helen gave up.

They circled their block once, twice. They searched the neighborhoods nearby, called the library, all the closest food pantries. When they reached the city limits, Helen called the cops, giving them a description of her stepdaughter. “Her name is Annabeth Chase. She’s seven years old. Last night, she went to bed wearing these blue, pink, and green owl pajamas. We think she took her pink jacket and blue backpack with her. And a hammer.”

A couple police officers met them back at their house, one searching Annabeth’s room while Frederick and Helen gave the other more details about Annabeth. Thick, curly blonde hair, gray eyes, always wearing a very determined look on her young face. Once he’d told the police all he could, Frederick paced their front lawn, sobbing freely. Helen returned to his side from lying the twins down for their nap just as the last cop car pulled out of their street. It wasn’t until Helen sat down with him that Frederick realized he was sitting on the lawn, his coat wrinkled, glasses sitting crooked on his nose. Helen reached over to straighten them. “We’re going to find her,” she promised.

“But will it be in time?”

Helen frowned. “For god’s sake, Freddy, what do you think is going to happen to her? She’s tough, and she’s fast. I’m sure she’ll be okay.”

“I’m afraid of more than just creepy men chasing after her,” he mumbles absentmindedly.

“Like what?”

That isn’t a simple question. At least, not when Helen truly has no idea that what he is afraid of is very real. And it’s at that moment that the full weight of it all settles on his shoulders, and he realizes that’s where the responsibility belongs. Yes, part of Annabeth and Helen’s tedious relationship was simply a new figure coming into the young girl’s life and forcing her to adjust. But when it came down to it, Helen couldn’t begin to really care for Annabeth or support her when she didn’t know or understand her.

And that was Frederick’s fault.

Annabeth has been five when Frederick has married Helen, and he’d sat his daughter on her bed the night he’d proposed, kneeling so they looking into each other’s eyes. He’d explained to his small daughter how she was going to have a new mommy, a mommy who wasn’t powerful and immortal like Athena and, rather, very normal. He’d explained to her that most people didn’t believe in Athena and the other Greek gods, which Annabeth already knew. But he’d also told her that they wouldn’t be telling her new mommy they were real.  _ We don’t want her to know, _ he whispered, like a real serious secret. Because New Mommy wouldn’t understand, and they were going to make a new life with her.

That’s what he’d told Annabeth. He’d told his own daughter that her new mother wouldn’t understand, so there was no point in explaining Annabeth’s maternity to her. But, really, Frederick has never worried about Helen understanding— he was too afraid she would think he was crazy. Or, that his daughter was crazy.

So, he’d never told Helen. He’d made up every excuse and spun a well-rehearsed story about Annabeth’s mother dying that Helen has never quite believed.

But if he had just told her … if he had just started this ‘new family’ with that one truth … It might have made all the difference now.

“Freddy.” Helen’s voice was soft, thick with both worry and promise. “We’re going to find her,” she promised.

He shook his head, his jaw trembling with every tear. “This is all my fault.”

“Frederick …”

“If I had just told you …”

Helen paused.

“If I had just … I should have told you. I should have told you before we got married. Then, you would understand! If I had just told you, then you would  _ understand _ Annabeth, and she would still be home and safe …”

“Frederick, it’s been a long day already. You’re tired—”

“No!” he waved her away, the desperation and fear returning with a vengeance. “You don’t understand! She’s in danger, and I— I failed her.” His shoulders shook, and he stumbled to his knees.

“Freddy, she’s young. She’s impulsive and free-spirited. That isn’t your fault.”

“She didn’t leave to go on an adventure, Helen!”

“She’s seven. There is no valid reason as to why she thought it was a good idea to leave. She didn’t think it through.”

“Annabeth? My Annabeth? Not thinking something through? I’m sorry, but you’ve got the wrong kid. No, she left because I wasn’t there for her. She left because I refused to let her be herself.”

“Frederick.” Helen pulled her husband to his feet and guided him back inside. But, once in the privacy of their own home, Frederick stumbles upstairs, leaving Helen to follow. He led her to Annabeth’s room.

His daughter’s room was organized as ever, drawers closed and all toys put away. The walls were painted a pale periwinkle, the trim lining each wall being the Greek key motif. The walls were covered— neatly and methodically— with posters of landmarks from Greece including the Parthenon, Panathenaic Stadium, the Aegean Sea, but also other architectural wonders from across the world. The Hoover Dam, Eiffel Tower, the Forbidden City, Great Pyramid of Giza, Sydney Opera House. All just a small handful of the places she vowed she would one day see.

Her generous bookcase was a piece of furniture Frederick had paid a private carpenter to craft his daughter; the shelves were supported by ionic columns carved in the ancient Greek style. Piled and overflowing neatly on the shelves were books on Greek mythology, architecture, National Geographic magazines, biographies on dozens of historical female figures, generic history textbooks, and a whole shelf dedicated to travel guides and books on all the world’s greatest sights.

Frederick wanted to believe that’s where she was going. She was just going on an adventure, going to see all the amazing buildings she’d always dreamed of visiting. Not trekking on her own, facing monsters with nothing more than her wit and a hammer.

Right beside her bookshelf, he sat on her bed— the most innocent and youthful part of her bedroom, the only part that suggested a seven-year-old slept in this room— with its pattern of pink and purple owls. He reached for a particular title from her bookshelf: a thick volume of Greek myths with biographies on just about every god, goddess, and monster he could name.

“I should have told you,” he muttered again, more to himself. “I should have told you everything before you became a part of our family. Then, Annabeth would still be here.”

“Tell me what, Freddy? What can you possibly say that could change how Annabeth is.”

“It’s not about  _ how  _ she is. It’s about who she is.”

Finally, Frederick met Helen’s gaze, his already bloodshot like he was in the middle of a drunken stupor. “I need to tell you Annabeth’s mother.”

“Her mother? … Frederick, is her mother fighting for custody?”

“No. No, we don’t have to worry about that. She … her mother can’t take her. She’s not allowed to.”

That seemed to put Helen at ease, and it relieved Frederick to be reminded that his wife truly did care about his daughter. Now, if he had just told her this earlier… 

He pulled out a particular volume of ancient Greek myths from Annabeth’s shelf, a heavy, worn and tattered title he’d bought just after Athena had returned to him to make it clear their child would stay with him. He’d bought it for himself, dedicated his time to studying the Greek “myths” and learning everything he could about the gods, demigods, and the monsters that haunted them. He’d taught Annabeth to read with this book, read her a story from the thick volume every night when he tucked her into bed. Often, Annabeth would ask him to quiz her, and they would spend hours reciting facts and stories about all Frederick could find for them to learn. Of course, Annabeth’s favorite part of the book had always been the chapter on Athena.

His thumb caught on the edge of the page, the crease especially worn right where the chapter began. A full-page portrait of the goddess portrayed her wearing a golden breastplate and armor over her dress, a dark cape flowing behind her, and a plumed Corinthian helmet protecting her head. She carried a spear in one hand while the other wielded a mighty shield, a majestic owl resting on her gold-plated shoulder. This rendering of Athena was expressionless, lacking the determined gait Frederick had always associated with her. But this volume was written by a historian, someone who didn’t see through the mist or believe in anything he was writing. Neither he nor the artist knew any better to give her eyes more warmth, or to put more grace in her hands.

“You know about Greek mythology,” Frederick prompted Helen.

“Yes,” she smiled softly. “The ancient stories about the gods. Zeus, Hera, Hermes. They were all gods of different aspects of the world. I’ve spent the last two years living with you and Annabeth. How could I not?”

“Yes, right. Except that they aren’t just stories.”

Helen raised a brow. “You really want to get into a history lesson  _ now _ , professor?”

Frederick shook his head. “No, they’re real. They aren’t stories because they’re real.”

“Real how?”

“I mean just what I say! They’re real! The gods, the monsters, the titans. All of them!”

“Frederick, hush. It’s been a long day …”

“No! You have to listen to me. Please! This is why I was afraid to tell you— because I knew I would sound crazy. And it is! But, you have to believe me. They’re real. All the Greek gods and goddesses in this book. Zeus, Hera, Hermes, Poseidon, Hades. All of them. Even the monsters. The Hydra, Chimera, Cerberus. It has to do with Western Civilization, and it moves! And—”

“Okay, I’ll humor you. What do the Greek gods and stuff have to do with Annabeth?”

“Well …”

This was the crazy part, the part Frederick Chase had no problem repeating, but couldn’t for the life of him figure out how to make it sound serious. All he could do was tell her. Tell her the truth and show all the flimsy proof that he had. Either she would believe him, or she wouldn’t. And what could Frederick do about that?

Tucked into the book’s crease, folded up beside the picture of Athena was a photograph. Frederick unfolded it and handed it to Helen to see. He didn’t have to peek at it to remember the smallest details to the photo. A friend of his in college had taken it, a snapshot of Frederick himself bent over a desk in the university library, hand caught in his hair as he scoured through numerous textbooks. Beside him sat a young and lovely, put-together woman with dark hair, fierce gray eyes, and a rather annoyed look as she cocked a brow the camera’s way.

Athena.

“That’s …” Helen was nearly speechless. “Annabeth’s mother?”

Frederick could understand her surprise.  _ Completely out of my league? I know. And, no, I still don’t know how I did it. _

“Athena,” Frederick sighed.

Helen’s expression melted into one of understanding and her lips formed a round ‘o’. “Athena. She was really into Greek mythology too? That’s why the stories are important.”

“No, Helen. Annabeth’s mother is the goddess Athena.”

He went on, trying to explain, but it was clear to Frederick that Helen was well convinced he was beyond tired and exhausted from the morning. He couldn’t blame her. So, Frederick fell back into despair, frantically calling every shelter and food pantry in the county until they each insisted they hadn’t seen a little girl like the one he’d described, and that they would be sure to call him if they ever did. He called the police again, asking if they had any leads. It had only been several hours, they reminded him, and encouraged him to rest, take a nap.

Rest. Take a— take a nap? When his daughter was missing, her life in danger. Had  _ they _ ever met a chimaera or cyclops in person? Tried to fight one? They didn’t understand how much danger his little girl was in. They didn’t understand how worried he was for her.

They didn’t understand how much he missed her.

_ “Gods, please!” _ he wept, sobbed.

It was nearly night when Helen brought dinner to their room for him. She’d put the boys down to bed herself, insisting Frederick take some time to collect himself. He had only obeyed once she’d promised she’d make more calls around town.

He still held that book, hands shaking against the binding. Memories and images of his daughter flashed through his mind, and it hurt so terribly that Frederick didn’t try to shut them out— he figured he deserved that much.

Helen gently tugged the book from his hands, setting a tray of his favorite dinner before him. “Eat up, Freddy. You can’t help Annabeth if you aren’t taking care of yourself.”

He took a bite. Then, he picked the book back up.

He lost track of time, wasn’t sure how long he sat there like that, nearly catatonic, Helen practically spoon-feeding him. She was about to give up when a knock sounded from their front door. Helen got up to answer it, brushing Frederick’s shoulder comfortingly as she passed. He was still numb to time, still stuck in his own Tartarus, until Helen called for him from downstairs.

He stumbled down the stairs and to the entryway until he saw who their guest was. Standing tall, proud and fierce, arms crossed over her chest, face full of determination is her.

“Athena.”

He hadn’t seen her in seven years and he was shocked, startled to be seeing her again. She was as ageless and strong as he remembers her, and her gaze bores into him. “Frederick.”

Helen took a step back. “I think I should leave you two—“

“No,” Athena didn’t snap, but she spoke firmly. Firmly enough to glue Helen’s feet exactly where they were. “I think the mortal should be here for this.”

They didn’t say anything for a long moment, and Frederick began to wonder if Athena was trying to intimidate him. He already was, but he also was already intimidated at the prospect of Athena visiting him  _ now _ . He was about to cower under the weight of her gaze when Athena lowered her chin and opened her mouth to speak. “Annabeth is alive. I am watching over and guiding her.”

Frederick couldn’t help but melt into a human-consistency puddle in relief.

“I wouldn’t say that she’s safe,” Athena glowered at him, “but she is under my protection for the time being.”

“Where is she? Have you spoken to her—“

“I know what you are going to say, Frederick, but I am not leading her back here. Do you know how many nights she hasn’t slept through, terrified with nightmares and haunted by spiders?”

“Wait,” Helen blinked. “The spiders—“

“They were real, you heathen!” Athena shouted, lips curled in loathing, her true wrath beginning to unveil itself. “My child has been crying out for help, haunted by her worst nightmares, and you dare accuse her of making up stories! Being dramatic? A child of mine, of such wisdom and wit? You insult me! But above all, you insult my children. You have insulted my dear Annabeth and spat on her honor.”

“Frederick, who …”

“I told you,” he managed, voice a mere whisper, shaking more from guilt than fear of Athena. Yes, he did fear her. He had learned long ago to fear the goddess of wisdom and war. But he also bowed to her, yearned for her, and he was still in awe of her. “This is Annabeth’s mother. Athena, Greek goddess of wisdom, war, strategy, and crafts.”

She was so much more than that, he thought, but he could never find the right words to really describe her. She played cold, but held a blazing fire of emotion within her. She was always calculating and strategizing and weighing her options, but even she had to fight sometimes to let her own wisdom rule rather than her heart. She always knew what she had to do, always knew the best thing to do. Athena  _ always _ had a plan.

Helen blinked. Twice, three times, four. Frederick decided it was best to just leave her at it for the moment.

“Athena, where is she? I’ll bring her back. I’ll—”

“You can’t bring her back. What would you say to her? Would you tell her that she was wrong to leave? That she would be in trouble? Annabeth is my daughter, a child of wisdom. It was with a sound mind that she ran away. You cannot deny her the validity of her decision. She deserves a safe home, and she deserves a family that understands her and cares about her.”

Frederick’s heart squeezed, but he relished the pain— he deserved it.

Athena continued, “I will keep watch over Annabeth as long as I need to. There are two other half-bloods nearing Richmond; I am guiding her to them and, together, they will make the journey to Camp Half-Blood. I will alert the camp activities director to send a protector satyr who will find them and help them reach the camp. You know that Annabeth will be safe there.”

“But she needs a  _ home.” _

“You failed to provide her one. Camp Half-Blood will be her home, and she will find a new family there who will support her and help her achieve her greatest potential.” Athena turned to leave, supposedly deciding she’d said her piece, but she stopped before the door, arms still crossed in visible tension. She turned back to face Frederick, her gray, all-knowing eyes simmering with rage. And sorrow. “Many of my daughters and sons as well as those of the other Olympians believe that we do not care for our half-blood children. It is enough to be denied the attention and love a child requires from one parent, but it is an irreparable sort of damage to be ignored by both.”

And with that, leaving one last glare directed to both Frederick and Helen Chase, Athena snapped her fingers and was gone.

Silence.

Dazed and lost, Frederick turned to look at his wife. Helen was ash-faced, suddenly frail, shaking from her head to her toes. “There is something you need to know about Annabeth,” Frederick murmured as he recalled the speech he’d prepared a couple years ago, trying to find the courage to tell his fiancé, explain to her what was so special about his daughter before Helen officially joined their family. “She’s special, so special. She got it from her mother.”

“ … Athena.”

“Annabeth is a demigod.”


	2. Acquired Taste

Frederick learns that beer is an acquired taste. It’s not really made to taste  _ good _ , but that’s okay because he isn’t drinking for the taste. Honestly, he’s definitely a wine guy. Or, gentleman. He is every bit the academic who goes to and hosts nice dinner parties and laughs modestly with colleagues and coworkers over bottles of champagne.

But he hasn’t been to a nice dinner party in months or even felt the desire to wash down his dinner with a modest glass. Wine is for when he feels  _ good.  _ He just wants something to numb a little of the pain, and he doesn’t expect the beer to make him feel better. He doesn’t have a problem with his new drinking habits; he’s a good, dedicated husband and father who goes out to the bar maybe a few times a week, and he always comes home sober, though not always sober-looking. He knows one bottle, let alone twenty of Chug’s strongest beer won’t make everything better; he just wants to be distracted for a little bit.

Still, Helen worries. She says this isn’t like him, that he needs to find a healthier way to cope. Or, get the police involved again. Helen doesn’t understand that Athena was right, as she always was. They were the bad guys in this scenario, and there was no changing that.

Not that Frederick holds more regret over becoming a villain in general— because he doesn’t. His greatest regret is that he drove his own daughter away, and now he wants nothing more than to hold her.

But she ran away, so now there’s nothing Frederick can do to fix what he’s done or atone for all his sins. All he can do is cope. Thus, the trips to the bar and acquiring new tastes.

Frederick has become a sort of regular at the bar. He shows up enough and on such a schedule that all the regulars know him, and they all call him ‘Doc’ as in his professional title because he doesn’t fit the mold of most other regulars. Unlike them, he has a steady, well-paying job, a beautiful house, a loving relationship with his wife. But he has lost more than what the others will ever see.

He tells them he lost his daughter in a custody battle. It’s close enough to the truth.

Frederick considers drinking another beer, then maybe following that one up with one or two more. But Al, the bartender, shakes his head as he takes Frederick’s bottle, true and pained sympathy darkening his eyes. “You don’t wanna’ do that, Doc,” he says in his Bostonian accent which reminds Frederick of home. “Now, go home before I call your wife.”

He tips his glass back once more just to make sure it’s drained, then he surrenders the empty glass to Al, and he pops a stick of gum in his mouth so as to appease his wife. She says she won’t kiss him when he smells so bad. Frederick considers having another bottle next time just to make it all worth it.

But he leaves the bar sober, though his eyes are bloodshot, and he hails a cab to get home.


	3. Mother of the Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely satisfied with this chapter, but I couldn't figure out how to fix it (and, by default, may or may not have given up). But I think this chapter is still necessary. So, I hope it isn't terrible?

Helen was still close to some of the friends she’d made in college. She’d roomed with three of them their junior and senior years and had vowed to stay close long after days of early morning classes and pulling all-nighters to study. They all went to the University of Virginia, and they all still live in-state, so they get together every other week for smoothies or yoga. Except, they haven’t done yoga since Helen had the twins, but Colleen, Sandra, and Christina don’t seem to mind too much. They love drooling over Bobby and Matthew and reassuring Helen in all her new motherhood anxieties. They’ve always been there for her. For everything. She’s always looked forward to their biweekly get-togethers, to the time when she knew she could decompress with them and just release it all.

And Helen has never needed one of their get-togethers more than she does now, but it’s the one time she can’t go to them.

While Frederick breaks down in the privacy of his home office and super-cleans the space from floor to ceiling, Helen puts the boys down for their nap, heads downstairs, and resists the itch to light a cigarette like she used to in high school. It’s been ages since she’s fallen for the urge, but her hands fidget nervously, and she wants to give them something to do so it at least looks natural. She goes to the kitchen, pours herself a glass of milk, and leans against the counter, staring out the window above the kitchen sink.

She called her friends last night, woefully telling them she had to cancel because something had come up. A family thing, she’d explained tersely— she was still working on the story she would have to tell them. Frederick’s ex-lover has cropped up out of the blue, whisking away their daughter in a surprise custody battle. For now, Annabeth was staying with her mother.

She couldn’t tell them that she’d apparently married into a family tied up with the Greek gods of ancient myths. She couldn’t tell them that Frederick’s mysterious past lover was a surprisingly attractive and captivating woman who was  _ way _ out of Frederick’s league. Worst of all, Helen couldn’t tell them that her seven-year-old stepdaughter had actually run away.

Or, that it was her fault.

The spiders. They’d been real. Real enough to scare a seven-year-old child into running away. Helen cursed herself, balling her hand into a fist. The memories of the last week assaulted her, all too fresh, vivid and painful. As they should be, she supposed. As clear as a vision before her, Helen saw it all replay in her mind. Annabeth came running into the living room, breathless. Helen had just laid her down not an hour ago. Annabeth clutched her favorite throw blanket— no surprise, covered in a pattern of hundreds of cartoon owls— and asked if she could stay up until her dad got home from work.

_ “Honey, it’s already past your bedtime. Dad will be home really late. You have to go back to bed.” _

_ “But I had a nightmare! There are spiders—” _

Helen checked for her once. There were no spiders. There were no webs or bite marks on the small girl’s skin.

_ “Annabeth Chase, this isn’t cute. I’ve had enough of your stories. Go back to bed.” _

But the spiders were real. And so were the bites. As were the cobwebs.

Helen couldn’t ignore the cobwebs. After the police had left their home, Frederick had done his own mad search through Annabeth’s room. Underneath her bed there were webs.

But not just a fresh, tiny web in progress in the corner by her bedpost. No, beneath Annabeth’s mattress was a whole layer of webbing hanging from the underside of her bed— like another bed sheet. Stretching across all four corners of the frame was an intricate and thick layer of webbing, so masterfully weaved and built that there were no gaps between strings to poke a finger or swipe through a single strand. It was like a trap, a fine design made by skilled hands, just waiting to catch their first victim, ensnare her and make her go silently.

The spiders had been real. Annabeth’s fear had been real. Her need for someone to hold her, to protect her had been real. But the young girl had realized that nobody was going to protect her except for herself.

_ “I, uh … there is something I should tell you before— before we get far.” _

_ Helen looked up from her plate, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. Frederick sat across the table from her, dressed in an impeccable suit and tie as was only appropriate for the fine dining restaurant. She smiled, so taken with Frederick’s innocent and awkward charm. He fidgeted nervously, could hardly hold her gaze. Somehow, Helen found it endearing, and she wanted to make him freeze for just a moment so that she could kiss him again. “Okay,” she chuckled, nodding for him to continue. _

_ “I, uh … I have a daughter.” _

_ Helen froze. She hadn’t been expecting that. A daughter? Frederick Chase, the awkward and fumbling history professor who collected military battle replicas and minifigures— he had a daughter? _

_ “She’s five. Her name is Annabeth, and she’s very special.” _

She became a mother when she married Frederick. She became Annabeth’s mother and key female figure as soon as she told Frederick, “I do.” Annabeth was her daughter.

And she’d chased her out of her own home.

Athena was never here, never right beside her own daughter to hug her or offer a reassuring smile. How hard could it be to do better than an absentee goddess of a mother? How had Helen managed to so easily become Annabeth’s evil stepmother?

She supposed it was because she didn’t know her. She had the completely wrong image of the child she was now a mother to. She didn’t know the first thing about Annabeth.

But, more importantly— and more accurately— it was because Helen didn’t want to acknowledge where Annabeth came from. Though, that was, of course, a significant part of her.

Athena, no surname needed. Athena, Ancient Greek goddess of wisdom, strategy, crafts, and patron goddess to the city of Athens. That was about all Helen remembered from her high school western civilization class. Didn’t that just make for easy fill-in-the-blanks?

Immortal. Goddess. Eternally young. Endlessly intelligent. All-powerful. If given the chance, who wouldn’t fall for someone so beautifully unearthly? How could even clueless, naive Frederick miss that chance? How could he not fall under her spell and fall to his knees, kissing the floor wherever she stepped?

And just like any flawless face, a dream too perfect, a siren song too sweet to be fair and true, Athena has left Frederick, the mortal, and their daughter. Helen was just his best choice in mortals. She came along and became part of Frederick Chase’s life to pick up the pieces and try to satisfy what needs and desires he lined to have Athena return and fulfill.

The big book of Greek mythology had been sitting out on the kitchen table the last few days, Frederick mindlessly yet rabidly tearing through it as if looking for a magical answer to bring his daughter back. Helen hadn’t wanted to look. She hadn’t wanted to crack open that endless blackhole and drown in her own irrelevance. But she had been considering that that book was her best chance of coming to understand her stepdaughter.

Warily, Helen took a seat at the dining table, reaching to draw the book closer to her. She ran her index finger along the edges of the pages, catching on the creased chapter belonging to the goddess of wisdom. She couldn’t help but spend another minute in awe of the painted portrait, the strength in her muscles, the endless knowledge glinting in her eyes. But then there was the photo. A candid shot taken of Athena by someone who had no idea what she really was. Athena with her dark hair pulled past her shoulders, her gray eyes shining with knowledge and power and purpose. She leaned slightly towards Frederick, his presence, perhaps, softening the harsh and unforgiving edges to her demeanor. Something in Helen’s chest constricted with jealousy at the sight. She had always known there had been another woman before her, always known that someone had loved Frederick enough to give him a child. She’d just never imagined that that woman had been— well …

Helen slammed the book shut, folding a ragged crease into the photo.

She supposed it could be expected of her that she be relieved. Or, grateful, perhaps, that Frederick had crossed paths with the goddess of war and strategy rather than Hera who was goddess of marriage and family, or Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty.

_ Grateful.  _ Helen could have laughed. Grateful that she was second best, left to fill an impossible expectation. Of course, Annabeth didn’t want her. Why should Annabeth settle for calling Helen ‘mother’ when hers was a goddess?

All of a sudden, her mind was filling with a thousand doubts that she’d never been concerned with until Annabeth Chase had run away. Never had Helen doubted herself, her capability, her place in life. Never had she felt so weary, running to keep up in an impossible race.

She kicked back her glass, wishing it was something stronger like whatever Frederick entertained himself with at the bar.

Helen slammed her glass on the counter and went to check on the boys, feeling every bit as worthless as Annabeth had seen her.

And she couldn’t talk to anyone about it.


	4. The Other Woman

Frederick is so desperate and terrified for Annabeth’s safety that he finds himself praying to Athena. He’s never prayed to her before because that very clearly falls under a very specific category of things he avoids doing to avoid dwelling on Athena. Granted, it’s a very hard thing to do because Athena was captivated by Frederick Chase for obvious reasons, and his life’s work is dedicated to a multitude of things that remind him of Athena.

But he’s given up on that now. He knows Athena is stronger and more powerful than him; he needs her to help him find Annabeth. And Annabeth needs her mother to keep her safe. Considering he’s never prayed to any of the Greek gods before, Frederick isn’t quite sure what he’s supposed to be doing, how low he should be bowing, what item Athena would appreciate if he bowed over, or if there’s an incantation he’s supposed to be reciting for this. So, Frederick settles on Annabeth’s textbook of Greek stories and mindlessly rants all his desperate pleas over the worn pages in the center of his office on the floor. Scattered around him are all the photos he has of him and Athena from when he was in college. There are nine of them. Frederick has nine pictures of Athena and they are all laid out carefully around him, far enough out of his way so that he doesn’t ruin them. Intermingled with these are pictures of Annabeth, laid out still in their frames. Even one from the day Annabeth arrived outside his apartment door; he’d taken a picture of the newborn babe, shaking the polaroid and waiting for his sight to clear, to see that he’d been imagining the babe. He wept over the photos, incessantly murmuring Athena’s name in broken cries.

And that is how Helen finds him.

It takes a minute before Frederick notices her presence. Or, maybe two. He hears the whisper of skin against skin, and he blinks out of his reverie to see his wife standing in the doorway, arms crossed, gaze turned to the carpet. She draws on her lower lip, biting down for a moment before she looks up again to meet his gaze. “Frederick, dinner is ready. You should come downstairs.”

“I—I’m busy.”

As it comes out, it sounds alme to Frederick too, but he thinks that Helen has to understand. She has to understand that he’s doing something important. He needs his daughter back home and safe. And, for that, he needs Athena.

For a moment, Helen just looks stunned. A painful kind of stunned. Then, angry, then annoyed. “Busy, what? Calling for Annabeth’s real mother? It seemed pretty clear to me when she stopped by to visit that she doesn’t care about guiding Annabeth home.”

_ Guiding. _

Just like that, it hits Frederick like a hammer to his parietal bone, and Frederick could cry in frustration for how obvious it is, how stupid he was. “Travel! Hermes! Of course! Oh, god, I’m so stupid!” Then, he begins furiously tearing through the pages of the book in search of Hermes’s chapter.

And Helen speaks again. “Do you still love her?”

That catches Frederick’s attention, and he stops, brow furrowing in confusion. “Love …”

_ “Her.” _ Helen juts out her chin to gesture to the pictures on the floor. “Athena. Do you still love her?”

That’s a complicated question. A loaded one. And Frederick hesitates before he can even sputter, “I …”

And that is plenty for Helen. She nods once, sealing her lips tightly together as she turns to head back to their dining room. “I made steak.” She crosses the threshold.

“Wait, no, honey! It’s not— I don’t—”

“It’s okay, Frederick. I don’t want an explanation.”

“No, Helen.” He’s stumbling to get to his feet and he trips over his own feet several times in a matter of seconds, crumpling the picture of him and Athena in the library. (Okay, so, most of them were taken in libraries.) “Helen, please. Just—”

“No, I get it, Frederick. You don’t need to explain it to me.”

“But it isn’t like that.”

“So, you don’t have any feelings for her, now?”

Frederick realizes he can’t please Helen with his answer unless he lies. And he hates himself for it. Part of him even hates Athena for it. Yes, he loved Athena. No, he isn’t over his feelings for her. Seven years and part of him still aches at the memory of her.

But it’s not like  _ that. _ Even seven years ago when he fell for the goddess, he knew he couldn’t have her. She didn’t want him. Not like that. But, yes, he still loves her, and that’s all Helen wants to know.

Not for the first time, Frederick wishes he had never met Athena, that she’d let him struggle through his doctorate on his own. But he also doesn’t want to let go of that time, let go of everything Athena gave him. Especially Annabeth.

Frederick stumbles to his feet, hurrying down the hall to keep pace with her. “Helen, please, just hear—”

She whirls on him. “When we decided to commit to a relationship and you told me you had a daughter, I knew there had been someone else before me. What I didn’t know was that she was still here, still a part of your life and Annabeth’s, and that I was just a placeholder.”

“That’s not it at all!”

“Then, tell me that. Convince me. Because I’ve never been concerned about Annabeth’s mother before. Now, all of a sudden, she’s everywhere. This is  _ our  _ home, Frederick! I don’t want Annabeth’s mother in  _ our  _ home!”

* * *

In hindsight, Helen supposes she shouldn’t have been surprised by the uninvited guest, but she is. When a knock sounds on the door early that night, Helen assumes it’s another one of Frederick’s colleagues from the university. In a few words, Frederick had told his coworkers and friends that he was losing a custody case against his former lover, and Annabeth was currently residing with her biological mother. Since he’d given the phony explanation, several of his colleagues had dropped by their home to leave casseroles, desserts, or flowers, wishing him luck, recommending lawyers, and even sharing occasional tears. Many of Frederick’s colleagues were quite fond of the young Chase girl, her profound wit and intellect for a child of her age. Helen figured it was another of them, stopping by with a bouquet of flowers and their sincerest sympathies. But Frederick was out at the bar for the evening, so Helen decided to leave the door, let them leave their gift, and be on their way.

But a second knock follows just as Helen brings her wine glass to her lips for a sip, and she rolls her eyes, leaving her glass on the short table in front of the couch.

When she opens the door, the very last person she ever wants to see is there. But, dressed in khakis and a gray shirt with a bear and the words ‘Shenandoah National Park’ on it, she looks much more approachable. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face in a simple ponytail, and her eyes are softer, less harsh and unforgiving. Still, Helen swallows at the sight of Athena, taking a step back. She is proud and confident, reminding Helen of her place. Goddess, monster, demigod, mortal. Helen was at the bottom of the food chain.

“Mrs. Chase,” she says, meeting her eyes. Her voice is almost subdued, like she’s making the effort to speak softly, but the dull edge to her tone doesn’t come naturally, and it’s still sharp.

Helen nods once, wary, summoning the will to offer the other woman her due respect. “I don’t know what title you prefer.”

Athena grins, amused. “Simply my name will do just fine.” She nods, gesturing into the Chase home. “I was wondering if I might be able to come in.”

Helen grips the side of the door, holding back a glare. “Frederick is not here, and he doesn’t wish to be bothered at this time.”

Athena blinks. “I know where Frederick is. I was hoping to speak to you.”

Having tea with Annabeth’s mother is at the top of a list of things Helen never wanted to do, but it’s where she finds herself at 10 o’clock at night. Her cup is still full, still in her hand. Athena’s gaze wanders the living room, taking in every inch. It reminded Helen of when her mother visited, sitting in the rocking chair in the corner, glaring as she inspected every inch from her post. Not for the first time, Helen wonders how on earth such a pair as Frederick and the goddess of wisdom was ever made.

As if reading her thoughts, Athena turns suddenly and sharply to face Helen, the edge to her gaze somewhat dulled. “I know what you must think of Frederick,” she says without any preamble. “What you think and assume of me in relation to your husband. And I care about Frederick enough that I want to explain.”

“I don’t see anything that requires explaining.”

“Because you have taken the liberty of coming up with your own assumptions.” Something like humor sparks in Athena’s eyes as she continues. “You mortals and your fragile, sensitive feelings.”

Helen laughs shortly. “Just because you might be omnipotent doesn’t convince me you’re so aloof and unfeeling as you try to act.”

Athena smiles approvingly. “Clever woman. No wonder Frederick became so taken with you.”

“And what about you? I suppose you can use your godly powers to tell me how Frederick feels about you.”

“Contrary to your belief, the Olympains— myself, included— are not omnipotent; we all have our limitations. And many, at that. But I don’t need such powers to understand Frederick or know how he feels about me. I believe he still possesses …” Athena’s expression grows a frown, a flinch of clear discomfort as she grasps for adequate words. “Feelings of desire for me. As he always has. But it should be clear to you that I do not return them; I never have.”

Helen almost laughs. “You have a daughter with him.”

“The gods are capable of both creating and bearing children. Because of the vows of maidenhood I took, my demigod children are all created. They are inspired by the mortals I meet, those whose intelligence and wisdom capture my eye. But I hold no value in the kind of romances most mortals desire and seek. When I met Frederick, I was attracted to his wit, his intelligence and passion. But I had no desire for a relationship— or, the kind you mortals waste your lives in search of. I see no value in physical intimacy or attachment. I think that the most intimate thing you can share with someone, the most meaningful connection you can make with a person, is one of intellect. Two minds that understand each other, coming to meet. To share knowledge and wisdom, your thoughts.  _ That _ is the most intimate connection you can have with someone— to share a mind.”

“That doesn’t change the meaning of what happened between you and my husband. If that’s what you call intimacy, you’re still saying you shared feelings for Frederick.”

“If that is the only way for it to make sense to you,” Athena allows, though she seems perturbed to give Helen that much. “I shared a connection with Frederick. I still admire his wit, his passion, and respect for knowledge. But I do not feel anything more for him as he does for me.”

Helen shifts on her feet. “I don’t see how this is supposed to make me feel better. You admit that Frederick still has feelings for you—”

“But Frederick is smart,” Athena insists with just a hint of sharpness to her tone. “He is wise. He knew before I gave him Annabeth that his feelings for me were not reciprocated. He always understood that he could not have anything more with me, or from me. While he might still have feelings for me, he knows they are something that will never be fulfilled. You should be grateful, mortal.”

“Grateful?” Helen laughs humorlessly. “Are you gods that far removed from so-called mortal emotions that that’s how you feel? You think I ought to be grateful for this even though my husband still desires you.”

Athena, on the other hand, seems somewhat amused, but she hides her smirk well enough. “We gods are somewhat indifferent to the particular sentiments of humans, but we are not so different as you might wish. I only mean to say that you ought to be grateful for the benefits you have in Frederick’s life over me. Think, Helen Chase. Of the two of us, you are here. In most stories, it is the one who bears the vow of marriage that is considered the victor over the one who broke the heart.


	5. A Letter From Long Island

It has been months, and Frederick isn’t sure what to do. He is already in despair, already reached his breaking point. He can never give up, but he fears opening his door to find a letter from Athena confirming his nightmares.

He no longer cries every night; he’s learned how to push down the pain, how to gather himself and put on a face. He tells his coworkers that he’s lost the custody case against Annabeth’s mother, and he prays he won’t have to craft a tale for them about a perfectly normal death.

He’s stopped holding vigils in his daughter’s room, put all her books and pictures back where they belong on her shelves. He’s started listening to Helen, treasuring the steadiness she has always provided him. He listens to her, lets her guide him back to bed when the nights grow late. Things between them are nowhere near perfect, but they have both regained enough sanity to share in their guilt and vow that everything about their family will be different from now on. They go about their lives as normally as they can, both praying for a sign.

Frederick is close to returning to his desperate pleas and cries out to Athena and Hermes and a number of the other Olympians when his prayers are answered.

He comes home, weary and tired. His day at the university wasn’t especially long, but he’s always tired now, always exhausted. He stifles a yawn, wandering to the kitchen for a cup of coffee to get him through the evening; he has a mound of essays from his grad students that he still needs to read through.

“I’m home,” he calls out quietly, shrugging off his leather and generously tipping back a fresh mug of coffee.

“Hi.” Helen softly sweeps into the dining room, coming to greet him with a cautious kiss. Frederick takes warmth from her effort, from the kindness and love she still offers him when he knows he doesn’t deserve it. He lets her know how much he appreciates it as he settles a hand against her hip and kisses her softly. Something in her body seems to relax, and she softens at his touch, reaching to touch his elbow.

“How have the boys been today?”

Helen shrugs. “They took a long nap. I don’t think we’ll have two cranky boys to wrangle tonight.”

Frederick smiles.

“By the way, the mail is on the table. You got a letter.”

Frederick straightens, surprised and considerably alert. “A letter? If it’s from the chair of my department, I already told Hendricks that I can’t spend any more time away from home—”

“Frederick, it isn’t from the university. It’s from some business.”

“A business?”

Helen shrugged. “I thought it was just trash, but it’s addressed to you. Handwritten.”

She reaches over the table to fan out the pile of mail, fingering a single yellow envelope. Frederick takes it, and there his name is written in fine cursive,  _ Mr. Frederick Chase. _

But it’s the return address that stops his heart.

There is no breath in his lungs, no weight in his feet to keep him standing.

Yet, he’s dead on his feet, unable to move as the envelope quivers between his tremoring fingers, and there are too many thoughts racing through his mind faster than the speed of light for him to grab on to even one and make sense of what he feels.

Because, there, written just as delicately in the top corner of the envelope is an address on Long Island, topped with the business name:

**Delphi Strawberry Service**

* * *

**Mr. Frederick Chase**

**1254 Willow Lane**

**Roanoke, Virginia**

_ Greetings, Mr. Chase, _

_ I am Chiron, camp activities director of Camp Half-Blood in Long Island, New York. I am writing to inform you that your daughter Annabeth Chase arrived at camp last night. I have not yet inquired about her travels, but she arrived with two older half-bloods and escorted by a satyr. Save for a few scratches, she is in perfect health. _

_ Camp Half-Blood is a sanctuary made by the Olympians for their demigod children like her. Here, she is safe and well-cared for. While at Camp Half-Blood, she is entirely protected from the monsters that wander the mortal world. _

_ I am told you are already aware of your daughter’s parentage. She has already been claimed by Lady Athena and will be provided a place in Cabin 6 with her Athenian siblings. Already, I can tell that your child is very clever and fierce; she will get along well with her fellow cabin mates. _

_ If you have any concerns, please feel free to contact me. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Chiron _

* * *

She’s okay.

His little girl is okay.

Frederick doesn’t realize he has tears in his eyes until they’re spilling over and disrupting his vision so he can’t read that second sentence again.

She’s safe. She’s alive.

His Annabeth— she’s still— well, of course! Gods, she’s so strong! Of course, she’s okay! Maybe, he ought to thank the gods for her safety, but he couldn’t care less about them at this moment. Not even Athena.

No, this is his daughter. He took not nearly enough care to his title as her father, but this is his daughter no one else gets any similar claim to her. He raised her. Tried. Failed. But she is still his, still his in name, in blood. Annabeth is his little girl, and he is so relieved.

He is resentful that he doesn’t get a happy moment of reunion where he can run to his daughter, pick her up in his arms, and cry into her hair. But she is only his daughter in name and blood, and he lost the right to any happy reunion long ago.

But, no. She is safe. She will be well-cared for. Appreciated by others who share her powers, her unmatched mind. Understood by other kids who have faced and feared the same things she has.

She’ll have a family now. The kind of caring and attentive family that she deserves. What Frederick wants for his daughter more than anything.

And he is so grateful for that … 

So grateful, and so incredibly relieved.

“Frederick?”

“She’s safe,” he murmurs so he voice doesn’t crack with the tears rushing down his face.

“Is it that summer camp you were talking about? Camp Blood …?”

“Camp Half-Blood,” he provides, absentmindedly. “The borders to the camp are magical. As long as Annabeth is there, she’s safe. She’s being taken care of.”

Without turning to look at his wife, he can imagine her fidgeting for a moment, regret and guilt washing over her demeanor.

Frederick has done plenty wrong, he knows. So much of the blame lies on his shoulders. But part of the matters he and Helen must contend with, the things that have now cropped up and threatened their marriage— this is one of them. Frederick is still angry with her.

But, for now, everything is okay. His sweet Annabeth is okay. She has a real home now.

“She’s okay.”

Helen settles a hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. And she weeps with him, thankful for this small blessing. Again, no thanks to the gods. Thanks to his daughter’s brains, he decides, and her wit and strength and durability. And her stubbornness. All that matters is that she made it, and she’s safe.

He cries at the dinner table for who knows how long. The sun sets; only the light of the dark moon and the street lights illuminate the Chase house. Helen coaxes him to their room for the night even though she knows as well as he does that he won’t be able to sleep. But he tries, for her sake.

And, as soon as the sun is back up, he goes into his creaky old desk, breaks out an untouched stationery set his sister Natalie bought him for his birthday nearly a year ago. He is glad he never threw it out after the Great Thanksgiving Schism.

So, he tears off a fresh sheet, grabs a pen from some bank, and addresses a letter to Delphi Strawberry Service.

_ Give her everything, _ he scribbles furiously, his pen marks heavy. _ Give her the world. I could have, but I never did. So, give her everything. For me, please. Give her a family she can always go to, always talk to, always find support in. If she finds everything she was looking for in your camp, keep her there. Show her how much you care, because I never did. _

_ She doesn’t need a mother or a father. I should know. She just needs a family. _

_ Please. Just make her feel loved. _


End file.
